The Ring
by mywildimagination
Summary: Did Voldemort care when he killed his last living relatives with a flick of his wand?


Darkness fell, and Voldemort made his way toward the great estate. He hardly needed his wand to remove the locks on the door; a wave of his hand would do. He stalked past all the Muggle finery, following the sound of laughter.

He found them in one of the upper rooms, drinking wine and playing cards. His grandfather's head was thrown back in laughter, his arm around his wife, who also chortled. Voldemort saw his father wiping a tear from his eye, his diaphragm heaving with pleasure.

"Well, said, Tom," choked out Tom Riddle Senior, still chuckling. "Now what's your bid?"

Thrice did Voldemort flick his wand; once to ensure their screams went unheard, twice to close the windows, and once more to draw the elaborately embroidered drapes. The door locked behind him as he swept inside, dark cloak brushing the floor.

Tom Riddle Senior glanced at the hooded figure, and his eyes widened imperceptibly before he called for a manservant. "Marshall, please show this young man to the door."

A small smirk crept up Voldemort's face as he waved his wand, clearing the cards from the small but ornate table. "Marshall," he said simply, "can't hear you."

None of them made any motion to pick up the cards. Tom Riddle Senior asked, "My boy, what is it you want? Money? I can -"

Voldemort threw back his hood. "Fool. What do I want your filthy gold for? I came for something much more valuable."

He wanted their lives. He wanted them dead. But he also wanted . . . he wanted to see the locket. Morfin had mentioned it – an artifact belonging to Slytherin. Once he had it, then he would show them his identity – from what they hadn't guessed already.

Then they would realize that he had come to avenge himself against them. The only meaningful production of their simple lives had turned on them because of their negligence. They would see that, when they had scraped away Merope like dirt from their shoes, they hadn't understood what they were dealing with. They wouldn't be his first murder, and they certainly wouldn't be the last.

He noticed his father staring at the wand he had stolen. "Do you recognize this wand?" Voldemort asked, twirling it between his fingers. "You should. I took it from Morfin Gaunt – no doubt he's threatened you with it several times.

"But I'm not on his errand. I need to know the wherabouts of an item last known to be in the possession of his sister. A locket said to have belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

Tom Riddle Junior narrowed his eyes at Voldemort. "I don't remember much of those days. My mind was affected – that witch -"

Voldemort cut him off. "She was impoverished," he said impatiently, "so whatever fine thing of Slytherin's she had would have stood out well enough. Did she still have it when you left?"

"She never took the bleeding thing off, did she? And why didn't she tell you what had happened to it, since you must be her son?"

Tom Riddle Junior had guessed right, though he remained somewhat unsure, and now his parents looked upon their grandson with new eyes. "I am your son as well," said Voldemort scathingly. "Though I doubt you even care. Didn't you see me, when I met you on the road this afternoon? I recognized you in an instant, but you never bothered to look at anyone. You never even troubled yourself to find out what happened to your _wife_, who died giving birth to me, who never had the chance to tell me anything, and who gave me your name, your filthy Muggle name -"

"Oh Tom," moaned Mrs. Riddle, and the three of them gave their attention, but she had eyes only for her grandson. "I never approved of your father's marriage, and I was relieved when it was over, but I never realized you existed, or what a gift you could be. You are not your mother's son, dear. You are noble. You could become great, and we could help you. Stay with us. Become my grandson. Become the Riddle heir. We could be happy together, all four of us. Stay here with me."

The foolish woman looked at him pleadingly enough to make him sick. What she proposed to him was ridiculous. A Muggle like her, make a wizard like him great? How did she think she would do that? With her money? Her status? Why would he want Muggle gold and Muggle status? Hadn't he already shown them he didn't care?

"What sort of power do you have?" he asked rhetorically. "What could you give me that is not already at my fingertips? Your son may not have told you, but he married into a family of wizards. Marvolo Gaunt and his family were the last living descendants of Salazar Slytherin, one of the greatest sorcerers of all time. His legacy has continued through the centuries, only to be surpassed by me. I shall lead the glorious revolution which will subject your kind to the dominion of my own.

"And unfortunately for you, you will not live to see that day."

He felt a singular feeling of pleasure and rightness as he cast the curse and they scrambled to escape him. Their bodies became still, and he noted with elation the looks of terror on their faces. He grinned as he turned out the lights and left the sleeping manor, almost skipping down the path to the Gaunts' shack.

It wasn't until he had modified Morfin's memory and took his ring that he realized he could make another Horcrux. Or could he? No book at Hogwarts had ever mentioned making more than one, and Hogwarts had the most extensive Wizarding library he knew. This information, he concluded, could not be obtained from any such book.

But he had no doubt he would obtain it. He would discover a means to his ends; never before had he been prohibited from finding something he, Lord Voldemort, had wanted.


End file.
